


and i know the way out

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, M/M, minor appearances by even and echo, probably au the second gig's episode comes out, spoilers for Twilight Mirage 28: This Year of Ours: The Scoundrel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 15:35:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13344204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: Grand vanished for eleven months. Gig has been absent for even longer.Grand hates a mystery.





	and i know the way out

**Author's Note:**

> me: i'm going to go to bed early tonight  
> fatt: here is a new episode with minute hints of gig/grand  
> me: i'm going to stay up and write this fic immediately
> 
>  
> 
> thanks to maddie, for looking it over and telling me to go to bed when I need to be told

The first person Cascara teams Grand up with is Echo. It’s… well, it’s not as awkward as it  _ could _ have been, all things considered. They do the job and they work together pretty well considering neither of them speak to each other. He asks, very casually, about how Even and Gig are doing. 

 

Echo gives him a weird look. “Even’s fine. You’d know more about Gig than I would.”

 

Grand would have asked them what they meant by  _ that _ , but then someone starts shooting at them, and they’re both too busy ducking and returning fire to talk much. 

 

Their trip back to Cascara is quiet. Echo doesn’t offer any further information, and Grand doesn’t ask. He tries his best to shake off the silence. Echo was always more of the strong, silent type anyway.

 

His next few jobs are with other people, people he sort of knows (or, knew, rather, before-- well. Before); people who would have been friends-of-a-friend once upon a time. It’s easy enough, now that he’s used to rough work and rougher people. Some of them ask about the people how used to work with, and it takes Grand a little while to realise they mean Even, Echo, and Gig, and not the crew at the warehouse.

 

Cascara hesitates before she tells him he’ll be working with Even for the next job. Grand can’t think why she'd have any reason to pause. He also can’t think of anything to say, and his throat hurts all of a sudden. (So weird, maybe he’s coming down with something.) He just nods, and takes the info packet.

 

He doesn’t actually end up  _ seeing _ Even per say -- they’re working in tandem from two different locations. Grand  _ could _ have argued the point, but it was faster to do it that way, so why would he take it personally? Just because he hasn’t seen Even since-- in a while. It’s  _ fine _ .

 

Anyway, this way he doesn’t have to give Even his gun back.

 

On the way back, Grand stretches for small talk. He lands, very casually,  _ so _ casually, on asking about Gig.

 

“What do you mean  _ how’s Gig _ ?” says Even, confusion colouring the static of the radio, “how would I know?”

 

His tone is the same as Echo’s had been, when he’d asked them. There’s a cold, squirming feeling in Grand’s stomach at his words.

 

“Well, you’ve been doing missions for Cascara for longer than I have, and I thought, you know, you’d probably have worked with him by now,” says Grand.

 

“Yeah, but I haven’t worked with him.” Even pauses. “Actually, I… I haven’t seen him in a while. I sort of thought he was hiding out wherever you were.”

 

“No, I-- You really haven’t seen him?” asks Grand, sounding absolutely calm and reasonable and not at all twitching for the mesh to check the timestamp on Gig’s last broadcast.

 

Even pauses, the silence stretching on for just a fraction too long. “Sorry. Maybe Cascara has him on other missions?”

 

“Right, of course,” says Grand, “we were a highly experienced team, she probably wants to pair us mostly with rookies.”

 

Even snorts. “Right.”

 

“Right,” echoes Grand.

 

Gig’s broadcast feed hasn’t been updated in more than a year. The last broadcast was the Miracle, the wave of feeling that hit everyone and everything.

 

Grand scrolls back through, checks to see if Gig’s handle has changed, checks to see if Gig’s guested in any other videos since then, if he’s replied to any comments. There’s nothing.

 

He’s probably doing something super secret for Cascara. Yeah. That must be it.

 

Cascara gives him a weird look, when he asks. It’s the same look Echo had given him when he’d asked after Gig.

 

“I would love for him to be on the team,” says Cascara, choosing her words carefully, “but he’s proving a little more difficult to track down than I originally thought.”

 

“But it’s  _ Gig _ ,” says Grand, “you know,  _ Gig _ !: big smile, streaming all the damn time, draws people’s attention every time he enters a room, weird horse, you know,” he waves his hands, in a clumsy impression of the Gig in his memory, “ _ Gig _ .”

 

Cascara sighs. “I’m aware of who he  _ is, _ Grand. He’s been tricky to get a hold of, now that he’s stopped streaming.”

 

The weird, squirming feeling is back in his stomach again.

 

“He… he stopped streaming?” says Grand.

 

“Complete radio silence since everything went down,” says Cascara. “Sometimes, I hear of people seeing him, or thinking they saw him, but…” She shrugs.

 

“But he loves streaming,” says Grand faintly.

 

Cascara gives him another weird look. This one is less like the one Echo gave him and more… sad.

 

“It’s entirely possible he’s still out there, making a new life for himself just like you did,” says Cascara. “From what I understand, during his last broadcast he damaged his stream suppressor, and it might have made him unable to broadcast.”

 

Grand can tell she means to be comforting, but he just feels  _ worse _ . He  _ knows _ Gig. If Gig can’t stream, can’t talk to hundreds of thousands of people and have hundreds of thousands of people talk to him back then he’s probably  _ miserable _ .

 

“Then he’d be trying to get in contact with  _ us _ ,” says Grand, “he’d be trying to  _ fix _ it.”

 

That can’t possibly be the reason. After all, Gig knows  _ him _ , Gig would know that he’d be able to fix it -- he always said Grand was the best person he ever met at fixing things.

 

Although. Grand has made himself pretty difficult to contact since it happened. He bites his lip.

 

Cascara presses her lips together, glancing over her shoulder before she leans forward. “Listen, if you want… if you want I can put you in contact with the person who had the last confirmed sighting. You can ask him all the questions you want, although I doubt he has any answers for you. He certainly didn’t have any when  _ I  _ asked him.”

 

“Great,” says Grand.

 

“But first, I need to you to do a favour for me,” says Cascara.

 

The favour is another job, of course. Every moment he’s working it feels stretched to double time, and it actually might be. It’s  _ excruciating _ , especially since he’s not getting  _ paid _ for this. He pushes the ship to get back faster than he should, feeling the rattle of the engines as they strain to get him there just a fraction faster.

 

It’s not that he’s  _ worried _ or anything. He just hates a mystery, that’s all. He’ll find Gig, help him fix his eye or whatever, and that’ll be that.

 

When Cascara gives him the name, he doesn’t believe her, not even when she gives him That Look, the one that says she thinks he’s being ridiculous. He’d think this were a joke, if Cascara were the type to make jokes like this.

 

She might be, but she’s not the kind to buy someone passage on a ship or provide bribes to get him into another ship in service of a joke. And she’s not really the kind to rope people into elaborate pranks, either.

 

It still  _ feels _ like it might be a prank, as he leans back in one of the plush red chairs of the waiting area. Grand studies the room, looking for signs of Gig, but it’s been a year, and anything there has long since been swept away.

 

“Ah, Grand Magnificent, welcome. A pleasure to meet you at last.”

 

Grand stands, straightening his shoulders as he faces Declan’s Corrective. “The pleasure’s all yours.”

 

Corrective huffs a laugh. “Please, follow me.”

 

He leads Grand into the next room, closing the door behind them. This room is similarly stark, all deep reds and sharp greys. There’s no spark of Gig in this room either. It’s hard to imagine Gig in such a cold space, even though he knows Gig must have been here at some point to do the stream of Corrective’s speech before the Miracle.

 

Corrective sits, reclining back on the chair behind his heavy iron desk.

 

Grand stays standing. He prefers a fast exit, these days.

 

“So. Gig,” says Grand.

 

He had more, he even opens his mouth to  _ say _ more, and then it vanishes from his mind.  _ You were the last person to see Gig _ feels too final to say aloud.

 

Corrective sighs. “Ah. Mr Kep-hart. Of course.” He pauses. “If Cascara got you passage here, then you’ve already read my statement. I don’t have anything more to tell you.”

 

“But there has to be more,” says Grand, “he hasn’t been streaming.”

 

Corrective shrugs.

 

Grand makes a frustrated noise, because don’t these people  _ get _ it? Gig  _ loves _ streaming, he loved looking into his weird floating camera and beaming into the lense, showing people the safe way to clean ventilation shafts or how to reweld a patch on the side of Gumption’s Gambit or introing an interview.

 

“Perhaps he doesn’t want to be seen,” says Corrective, “some people who fade from the limelight find that they prefer it that way.”

 

“But it wasn’t  _ about _ the limelight,” says Grand, “it was about the  _ people _ .”

 

Corrective gives him a curious look.

 

“Or, uh,” Grand straightens his shoulders again, smoothing his hair back, “or something like that. He uh. Told me that, once, we used to-- we talked.”

 

Grand swallows. It’s been a very long time since he’s thought about the late-night talks he and Gig used to have by the campfire after Even and Echo had gone to sleep and he’s  _ definitely _ not going to start now. It’s hard though, not to think of Gig’s bright smile in the firelight, the flick of his hands as he gestured, the way he’d lean forward when Grand was speaking, almost close enough to touch.

 

“Yes, he… mentioned you were a friend of his,” says Corrective, “I would say that he spoke highly of you, but in my experience there were few that Mr Kep-hart did not speak highly of.”

 

Grand drops his gaze. His throat feels tight. “That sounds like Gig alright.” He takes a deep breath, forces himself to look back up to meet Corrective’s gaze. “I’m just trying to make sure he’s okay. If he wants to keep hiding out, then, well, I get that. But I just… I just need to know that he’s… I just need to know.”

 

Corrective considers him for a long moment. Grand swallows hard and forces himself to keep his gaze steady.

 

“I haven’t seen him--”

 

“Oh come  _ on _ !”

 

“But I may be able to point you in the direction of someone who has met with Mr Kep-hart more recently than I have,” Corrective continues smoothly under Grand’s anger.

 

Grand freezes in place, watching as Corrective pushes himself out of his chair and walks across the room to a small set of iron drawers. There’s a click and a sharp hiss of air escaping as he opens one, turning back towards Grand holding a small piece of silvery paper.

 

Corrective holds it out, then quickly snatches it out of Grand’s grasp. “Even if this leads you nowhere, you will still owe me for this.”

 

Grand’s gaze is fixed on the glimmer of silver in Corrective’s hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

 

Corrective holds it out to him. As Grand tilts the paper to the light he can see the writing shine on it. Coordinates.

 

Grand frowns, looking up at Corrective.

 

“You’ll know it when you see it, I’m sure,” says Corrective.

 

“Thanks,” says Grand, and turns to leave.

 

“Mr Magnificent,” says Corrective, “I would ask you to consider that perhaps the reason you haven’t seen him, if because he doesn’t want to be seen.”

 

Grand clutches the paper tightly in his hand. “He’ll want to see me.”

 

He leaves quickly, before Corrective can share any other things for him to consider.

 

The coordinates are… tricky. It takes Grand longer than he’d like to admit to figure out why -- they’re changing. He tracks the changes, slowly around a moon, then swerving to give a wide arc to a transport ship, then heading towards an asteroid belt. Grand heads for the opposite side, keeping an eye on the silvery paper to make sure he’s on track to meet them.

 

Corrective’s right. He  _ does  _ recognise it.

 

It’s Myriad.

 

She’s looking a little worse for wear but she’s unmistakeable, even with her name buffed out from her side. He hails her, and when they’re no response he leans on the button. He knows from experience that she’s receiving an absolutely  _ aggravating _ sound. No one  _ ignores _ that sound.

 

Sure enough, Myriad’s voice crackles over the line. “ _ What _ ?”

 

“Hi,” says Grand, “permission to come aboard?”

 

“Permission denied,” says Myriad, “leave us alone.”

 

“Us?” says Grand. His chest feels tight. 

 

“Yes, us,” says Myriad, “if you’re having trouble I can clarify the other words in that sentence too, like,  _ alone _ , as in  _ go away _ .”

 

“Myriad, it’s  _ me _ ,” says Grand.

 

“Who exactly-- wait,” says Myriad, “how did you get my signifier?”

 

“Myriad, it’s Grand, Grand Magnificent? I, um, I’m looking for Gig,” says Grand.

 

Grand feels like there’s someone sitting on his chest, making it hard to draw breath.

 

“Gig?” says Myriad.

 

Grand opens his mouth to say, yes Gig, of  _ course _ Gig, who else would he be looking for, but--

 

“Yeah, Myriad, what is it?” says Gig.

 

His voice has an odd tone to it that Grand’s never heard before, but it’s unmistakably him. Grand makes a sound of surprise.

 

“What--” Gig begins to say.

 

“Gig!” says Grand, to words bursting out of him before he can stop himself, “Gig, I found you!”

 

“ _ Grand _ ?” says Gig.

 

And, wow, he doesn’t have to sound  _ so _ surprised. He’s  _ missing _ , of  _ course _ Grand was going to come and find him.

 

“Yeah, yeah it’s me,” says Grand. He can’t stop smiling. “Permission to come aboard?”

 

Gig’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

 

Grand’s smile fades as the squirming feeling takes up residence in his stomach again. “What? Of course it’s a good idea. Come on.”

 

“I…” Gig takes a shaky breath in, “I don’t know that me seeing other people is such a great idea right now.”

 

“ _ Right now _ ? Gig, no one’s seen you for a  _ year _ ,” says Grand, “do you know what I had to do to get someone to even point me in your direction?”

 

“It’s… I just don’t think I’m up to it, right now,” says Gig. “Just, leave me alone.”

 

Now Grand knows why he sounds so odd. Gig sounds  _ tired _ . Grand’s never heard him sound tried, not even when Gig had a truly  _ terrible _ flu and Grand accidentally called him at three in the morning.

 

“Right, now I’m definitely coming on board,” says Grand,. “Prepare to be boarded.”

 

Gig makes a protesting sound but Grand mutes the speakers, patching requests through to Myriad. She complies without argument,  smoothly docking in a way that suggests she was already part-way through the process before Grand had even started.

 

The ship looks just as worse for wear on the inside, as patched and repatched as the inside of the Gumption’s Gambit. The only light comes from the thin bands of emergency LEDs running along the floor. Duck is waiting by the doors, the sight of him still as startling as it was on Quire. He, at least, looks perfectly fine, if a little out of place amongst the metal of the ship.

 

Duck neighs softly, his mane pointing down the hallway.

 

“He’s still in the same room,” says Myriad, her speaker volume low as he walks through the ship’s corridors, “and be… gentle with him.”

 

Grand frowns. “I didn’t come to fight.”

 

The door to Gig’s room is the only one that’s shut. Grand knocks.

 

“Go away, Myriad,” says Gig.

 

“It’s Grand.”

 

There’s a pause. “Then  _ definitely _ go away.”

 

Grand lays a hand on the door. “Come on Gig. I came all this way.”

 

“Sorry you wasted your time.”

 

Grand tries the door handle. It stays locked for a moment, then slides open. Grand looks up to where Myriad’s camera would be. The light winks at him.

 

_ Thanks _ , mouths Grand.

 

Like the corridor, Gig’s room is dark, lit on by the faint glow of the LEDs. Grand can see the lumpy shape of him, stretched out on the bed. He doesn’t look over as Grand steps in, staring at the wall opposite him.

 

“Gig?” says Grand.

 

“Go away,” says Gig.

 

Grand steps closer. “Gig, listen, I just--”

 

“You came all this way, I get it,” says Gig, “Sorry.”

 

“That’s not--” Grand sighs, “I just. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

 

Gig blinks, looking over at him for the first time. “You… came to make sure I was okay.”

 

Grand shifts his feet. “Yeah, I. Everyone I asked said they hadn’t heard from you, and I-- I thought it was weird, you know, because you’re always so...anyway, I…” He lets out a breath. “You know. Just wanted to check.”

 

Gig presses his lips together. Something about it makes Grand’s chest feel tight again, and he leans in, his hand wavering for a moment before he lays it gently on Gig’s shoulder.

 

“So are you okay?” says Grand, his voice soft.

 

“I--  _ no _ ,” says Gig.

 

And then, horrifyingly, he bursts into tears.

 

“Uh,” says Grand.

 

He doesn’t know what to do, so he sits down next to Gig, because he has to do  _ something _ . Gig immediately wraps his arms around Grand, burrowing his face in Grand’s shoulder. Grand slides his arms around Gig, making what he hopes are soothing noises.

 

“It’s just so  _ much _ ,’ says Gig, “and I sent it to  _ everybody _ Grand, everybody felt it, everybody  _ knows _ .”

 

“I mean, sending things to everybody is kind of your thing?” says Grand.

 

This is, apparently, the wrong thing to say, because Gig only shakes more in his arms.

 

“I just didn’t know what else to  _ do _ ,” says Gig, “I didn’t know that taking it out would be so...so…”

 

“So what?”

 

“So  _ sad _ ,” says Gig, “it’s even worse now than it ever was and I feel… I feel like I’m really deep in a well of it and I can’t get  _ out _ , and I’ve been  _ trying _ but it just keeps getting deeper.”

 

Grand takes a steadying breath. “I felt like that. For a while.”

 

Gig shifts, leading the side of his head against Grand’s collarbone. He fiddles with the front of Grand jacket “How did you get out?”

 

Grand shrugs. “I think I’m still in it.”

 

“Oh,” says Gig softly.

 

“Hey.” Grand looks down at him. “At least now I have company.”

 

He can see Gig’s watery smile in the dim light. 

 

“Thanks,” says Gig, after a long moment.

 

Grand blinks. “I mean, you’re welcome, obviously, but for what?”

 

“For coming,” says Gig.

 

His smile looks a little more solid. It’s nothing like the bright smiles from his streams, but at least it’s something. A beginning.

 

“It’s good to see you,” says Gig.

 

There’s a warm feeling in Grand’s chest, spreading, chasing out the squirming feeling in his stomach. He smiles.

 

“Yeah,” says Grand, “Good to see you too.”

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> _This guy's walking down the street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep he can't get out._
> 
> _A doctor passes by and the guy shouts up, 'Hey you. Can you help me out?' The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on._
> 
> _Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts up, 'Father, I'm down in this hole can you help me out?' The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on._
> 
> _Then a friend walks by, 'Hey, Joe, it's me can you help me out?' And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, 'Are you stupid? Now we're both down here.'_
> 
> _The friend says, 'Yeah, but I've been down here before and I know the way out.'_
> 
> _\- The West Wing, Noel_
> 
>  
> 
> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


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